Beth Andrews - Feels Like Home

Yvonne stared down at the fruit. What was she supposed to do with it? She didn’t even like bananas. “I will,” she answered calmly, when what she really wanted to do was shove Diane out the door so she could compose herself. Tidy up the cottage. Realign her thoughts to accommodate the fact that her schedule, her plan for the afternoon, had been changed. “And thank you for the groceries. I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble, though.”

“No trouble at all.” Diane set a box of shredded wheat cereal in an upper cabinet. “I was at the store and tossed a few essentials in for you. And since I baked yesterday, I brought some cookies as well.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Chocolate chip.”

Aidan’s favorite.

“How…nice,” Yvonne managed to say lightly. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy them.”

And maybe as she ate them, she could remember how she’d gotten Diane’s recipe and made a batch herself. Because Aidan had asked her to. Her first—and last—attempt at baking had ended with smoke billowing from the oven, a visit from the local fire department and her feeling like a complete failure.

“Aidan mentioned you were at the carriage house this morning,” Diane said, opening the refrigerator door and putting away the milk and butter.

“I got in early and thought I’d check out the building.” She scraped off the sticker on the bananas and rolled it into a tube. “He seemed quite surprised to hear I’d been hired.”

“Hmm…yes…well, that’s probably because I hadn’t told him yet.”

Yvonne set the bananas on the only bare corner of the table. “He doesn’t want me here.”

“No. He certainly doesn’t.” Diane stacked one bag on top of the other and then folded them. “But I do.”

Ducking her head, Yvonne examined the bananas closer. “I appreciate your belief in my abilities. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure your wedding is perfect.”

“Oh, I have no doubt. Which is why I’m confident everything will turn out as I’d planned.”

Why Diane’s expression was just this side of sly, Yvonne had no idea. Wasn’t sure she wanted to know. It was enough that Diane had asked her here. She finally had the chance to make a real connection with a woman she’d always respected, but who’d never accepted her.

“That’s why I’m here,” she said with her most professional smile. “To make sure you get everything you want for your business and your wedding.”

“What I want is for my wedding to be the first official event held at the Diamond Dust—a sort of kickoff to our venture into hosting. Al and I have both been married before, so we don’t need all the pomp and circumstance this time around. We want a small, intimate gathering with our families and closest friends. And we want it to showcase the best of the winery so people can see what to expect if they hold their own special events here.”

Right. Could she pull this off?

Yvonne’s smile felt stiff and cold. Or maybe the panic squeezing her throat was cutting off the blood supply to her face. “No problem.”

Diane nodded. “I know this is short notice, so I’m sure you’re anxious to get started. Why don’t you stop by the house tomorrow for lunch? I’ll have a finalized guest list for you by then.”

“That’ll be fine,” she said, calculating in her head how much time she had to get the invitations ordered and sent. Not enough. Not nearly enough. She moved aside the scrapbook she’d made showcasing some of her most successful weddings, so she could pick up the large binder underneath. “I have some invitation samples here,” she said, laying the open binder on the counter. “Once you find a design you like, we can customize the colors and—”

“Whatever you pick will be fine.”

In the act of flipping to a design she thought Diane would like, Yvonne froze. “Excuse me?”

“Naturally Al and I will let you know the wording we’d like to use, but the design, the colors…” the older woman waved her hand. “Those are up to you.”

“You want me to choose your wedding invitations?” she asked incredulously.

This time Diane’s smile was warm, her eyes lit with humor. “Isn’t that what wedding planners do?”

“I help people make choices about flowers and color schemes and menus and music,” Yvonne said slowly. “Everything that enables them to have their dream wedding. Those choices are based on the client’s preferences and their budget.”

Diane crossed her arms over her ample chest and studied Yvonne over her glasses. “My preference is that you plan my wedding—all aspects of it, except for my dress, which I’ve already picked out.”

“But…but what about your attendants’ dresses? Tuxes for the men? Favors and—”

“Al and I are having our children stand up for us. It would probably be best if you let Marsha, Al’s daughter, pick her own dress based on the color scheme you choose, but the boys can wear suits. As for favors…” Diane grimaced, as if a token gift of appreciation was on par with finding someone else’s hair in your dinner. “I’ve never been big on that sort of thing. Let’s just skip that part?”

Yvonne realized she was staring at her with her mouth open. She snapped her lips together. This was crazy. She’d had carefree, laid-back brides before, but nothing like this.

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable taking over that way.” She was excellent at making a client’s dreams come true.

How could she do that for Diane if they didn’t work together?

“Why don’t you put together your ideas and I’ll approve them.”

“I don’t—”

“I’d really like your help with all this.”

And that was the whole reason she was here. Diane needed her. “All right,” Yvonne said. The decision seemed somehow life-altering. Then again, maybe all stupid decisions seemed that way at first. “I’ll have a few sample invitations ready for you to look at during lunch tomorrow. Maybe we can also discuss some ideas I have for advertising events at the winery.”

She’d spent the entire five and a half hour drive from Charleston brainstorming ways to promote the new venture. She wanted to be prepared, to do a good job. Plus it’d kept her from thinking about what a possibly colossal mistake coming back here was.

“I’m not really involved in all that,” Diane said as she headed toward the door.

Frowning, Yvonne followed her. “You’re not?”

“No. You’ll have to discuss any changes or ideas with Aidan.”

Yvonne curled her fingers into her palms. “But you hired me.” She’d thought she’d be working with Diane. Yes, she’d realized she’d have to be around Aidan, but for the chance to finally be accepted at the Diamond Dust by Diane, she’d been willing to risk it.

“Your contract is with the winery, which Aidan runs. For the next few months, anyway.” Yvonne must’ve looked as horrified as she felt, because Diane’s expression softened. “Don’t worry. He’ll treat you fairly.”

“How can you be sure?”

She shrugged, then opened the door. “Because you’re what’s best for the company. Aidan always does what’s best for the Diamond Dust.”

THOUGH THE DOOR to Aidan’s office was open in welcome, Yvonne couldn’t force her feet forward. One thing was for certain, that welcome wasn’t meant for her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hard. When she opened them again, spots danced in her vision. Those spots, she reminded herself, were like her memories. Real enough, yes. But quick to fade.

Elongating her spine as she’d been taught during her years on the pageant circuit, she raised her hand to tap on the door frame, then caught sight of Aidan staring out the window.